


Blood on the Floor

by katikat



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-30
Updated: 2010-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 12:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katikat/pseuds/katikat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a pool of blood on the hardwood floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood on the Floor

"Kate, don't do it!" Peter said softly but firmly, not backing off.

There they were, he and Kate, pointing guns at each other in Neal's loft in some kind of a Mexican stand-off. Peter's memory flashed back to the last time Kate had a gun in her hand, pointed at him. Though this time, there was no hesitation in her stance It was obvious this time she planned to use the gun to get what she wanted.

And Neal? Neal was standing off to the side, out of the path of any bullet, which Peter commended. Peter didn't look away from Kate, not even for a second, but out of the corner of his eye he noticed Neal raising his hands in a placating way, trying to calm down both himself and them - Neal always did get anxious around guns of any kind.

"Kate," Neal whispered, stunned. "What are you doing? This is not the way. Not our way!"

Kate didn't turn away from Peter, watching him with intense eyes. "I'm done waiting, Neal. I need the music box. Now!"

"I... I don't have it," Neal admitted reluctantly, shooting a look at Peter.

For a moment, Kate looked shocked, then she frowned and gripped the gun tighter. "I don't believe you. Everybody knows that you have it! You said it yourself. You said that you had it!"

There was a tone of desperation creeping into her voice. Oh crap, Peter thought.

Neal shuffled his feet uncomfortably and raised his hands even higher. "I never said that. Everybody just assumed... I don't have it. Never had it."

Silence settled over the room and Peter noticed that Neal started to relax, started lowering his hands as if everything was over now that this little misunderstanding was clarified. But Peter knew better. He knew that it was far from over. And he sensed that their showdown wouldn't have a happy ending, not with the way Kate's whole body suddenly slumped, her face crumbling.

"You don't have it?" She laughed bitterly, brokenly, a look of despair entering her eyes. "All that, everything, it was pointless?"

"Kate..." Neal said softly, reaching out in a silent plea and taking a step closer.

"Neal!" Peter barked, but too late.

Kate turned, swinging the gun to point it at Neal, her whole body tensing. And in that very moment Peter was sure that she would shoot, that she would shoot to kill, that Neal was dead if he didn't do something right now.

And so he took aim and squeezed the trigger.

The silence that followed was louder than the bang.

*****

The EMTs, the cops, the coroner, they came and went. Hughes, Cruz and Jones, they came and went. June and the lawyer she called for Neal, just to cover all bases, they all came and went. And then it was just Peter, Neal and the white outline of a body and a pool of blood on the floor.

Peter responded to all the questions hurled his way with short, precise answers. He had nothing to hide. He was absolutely convinced that he had done the right thing. There was no doubt in his mind that Kate would have killed Neal, he knew it the way he knew that the sun rose in the East and that his wife loved him.

He had never killed anybody before, had never even caused a serious injury - but he didn't regret what he had done. He had no doubt that remorse would come and it would be crushing, suffocating, that it would tear him apart - he killed somebody today and not just a nameless suspect either, someone he knew well... But he still didn't regret it. Neal was alive.

Neal...

During the whole post-shooting ordeal, Neal sat on the floor with his back to the bed, knees drawn to his chest, hugging them tight with his arms. He was shivering, shaking slightly, staring blankly at the spot where Kate's body had laid before the coroner bagged it and took it away. He was pale, his nose reddened and eyes red-rimmed, shell-shocked. He hadn't said a word since Peter dragged him away from the body and even before that it was just a running lament of "Katekatekatekate..."

Peter felt infinitely old as he walked slowly through the loft toward his friend. Neal didn't react to his presence in the slightest. He kept staring at the pool of blood that was all that remained of Kate and to Peter it seemed as if Neal didn't even blink, as if he wasn't even breathing.

"Neal," Peter whispered as he knelt down in his friend's line of sight, just a foot away. He could see the tremors running through Neal's body, the blood crusted on Neal's hands, the tears dried on his face. Peter was starting to really worry. It seemed as if Neal simply checked out, as if he wasn't even there. "Hey, Neal," he tried again and he raised a hand to touch the younger man, but he paused when Neal shrank away minutely. "I'm so sorry, Neal. So very sorry," Peter said softly, closing his eyes and clenching his hand into a fist.

"Why?" Neal rasped brokenly.

Peter looked at his friend and noticed that Neal was now staring at him, the empty, haunted look still in his eyes. "Why what?" Peter asked silently.

Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, Neal huddled even tighter. "Why did you kill her?" His voice broke at the last word.

Resting his hands on his thighs, Peter sighed. "She was about to kill you."

Neal shook his head slightly. "No, she wouldn't have. She wouldn't," Neal insisted when Peter started to protest. "She wouldn't. She was... I... I loved her. She loved me. She wouldn't have done that. She wouldn't."

Blind to the end, Peter thought sadly. "Neal..."

Looking away, back to the pool of drying blood on the hardwood floor, Neal whispered: "I don't know if I'll ever forgive you, Peter."

It was a hard blow, even if Peter expected it. "Would you have preferred if she killed you?"

"Yes!"

The utter conviction in Neal's voice shocked Peter so much it hurt. "Well, I wouldn't. I don't!" he snapped curtly and grabbing Neal's chin, he turned Neal's face towards him and leaned closer. "I prefer you alive and hating me than dead. Go figure!"

Neal took a sharp breath and flinched. "Peter..." He tried to pull away but Peter wouldn't let him.

"No, you listen to me now!" Peter ordered in his firmest voice. "Before today, I'd never killed anybody. But I shot her because I couldn't let her kill my friend. You are my friend, Neal. You are!" he repeated when Neal tried to shake his head. "This, our relationship, it's not about keeping you on the straight and narrow or solving cases anymore, not entirely. Don't you get it? You are my friend and I am determined to keep you alive despite yourself, got it?"

Neal tried to turn away, back to the bloody smear, to the white outline but Peter refused to let him.

"I'm sorry about Kate," Peter said, more softly this time, sadness and grief in his voice. "If I could change the past..." He shook his head, lowering it, letting his hand fall away from Neal's chin. "Neal, if I wasn't convinced that she was about to shoot you, I wouldn't have..." His voice trailed off.

For a moment, they sat like that in the loft smelling faintly of blood and gunpowder. Then Neal raised his hand and laid it lightly on Peter's forearm. Peter raised his head at that but Neal wasn't looking at him, though he wasn't staring at the bloodied floor either. Neal let his head fall forward and rested his forehead on his raised knees.

Neal's voice was muffled when he spoke. "I... I can't tell you that it's okay," he whispered. "I just can't. Not... not yet, okay? But maybe... Maybe with time?"

Peter looked at him for a moment, at his stooped shoulders and huddled body, radiating misery and grief so deep that Peter's soul ached. Covering Neal's hand with his own, Peter nodded. "Fair enough."

The End


End file.
